Chapter Five: Baltazar's Tale

We were two months into our research project when Hornsby made his fourth bi-weekly visit to the Metzabok settlement along with Montero; replenishing our supplies and collecting our tapes, rolls of black and white film, and two hundred-page leather bond journals that were meticulously written to follow his field research format.

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Hornsby had explicitly instructed us to use the left page for our observations from the day including logging of our photographs and audiotaping. These entries must be concluded each evening before retiring. Any corrections or additions that were made went on the right page the following morning after we had time to sleep on what we had written.

With each visit, Hornsby was becoming visibly more anxious. He spent little effort to report any progress from the other members of the research group, though he did mentioned that Helen Wordsworth had fallen ill with malaria and returned to America to recover.

Cassarina, however, didn’t seem concerned, dominating our debriefings about the progress of her botanical medicine work. Hornsby listened intently. In this regard, I felt a growing skepticism about him and the expedition’s ultimate purpose. With Hornsby you could never tell. But I did have some news, as I debriefed Hornsby of my last two weeks of research.

In an authoritative manner I said, “I have a roll of film taken of some rock art we found along a cliff next to Laguna Metzabok. Unfortunately, we didn’t spend much time at this site because it started to rain.” Hornsby pointed to the micro cassette tape next to my journals.

“Here is a recording of Baltazar. He lives isolated with his wife and children on the other side of Lago Metzabok.

“He practices traditional sustainable farming. Amazingly, he is intercropping about 60 different kinds of fiber foods and edible plants,” Cassarina interjected.

“Baltazar does seem to be able to remember his father’s stories vividly,” I continued, trying to keep Hornsby’s attention focused on me.

“Go on, Jules,” Hornsby said, shifting his glance at me. Cassarina sat back, looking a bit rejected.

“Thank you,” I said, opening up my journal.

I reiterated that a week ago Cassarina and I had ventured out to interview Baltazar. He was one Lacandon we had been waiting to get permission to visit since we first arrived at the settlement because of his isolated encampment.

“The isolation of this particular Lacandon could be advantageous in uncovering any clues about the Soul Chamber,” Hornsby said. I nodded in agreement and continued to inform Hornsby of my findings.





We were guided and assisted by our Lacandon translator, Jorge, a resident Lacandon at the Metzabok village.




Baltazar’s hut was designed with a much lower rounded roof then those constructed at Metzabok, causing one to stoop down to enter. A continuous smoldering fire had blackened the interior but the fumes were a natural deterrent for mosquitoes. Chickens roamed free and stray dogs pestered us, begging for scraps of food.


Cassarina, who had since retired for the evening, and I had spent the day collecting various plants including a prime specimen of the plumeria rubra flower, known by the Lacandon as the bak nikte, which created the first god, Sukunkyum, older brother of Hach’ kyum. Sukunkyum is chief lord of the underworld and judge’s souls.






Continued...